


Miles Vorkosigan and the Academy of Magic

by NanoIsHuge



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2018-03-04 12:11:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3067355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NanoIsHuge/pseuds/NanoIsHuge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eleven years after Cordelia Vorkosigan ended the War of Voldemort's Pretendership, her son travels to Earth to enrol in Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Miles is to be a wizard, like his parents before him. </p>
<p>But dark things are stirring. The fates of Earth and Barrayar may depend on just how well Miles can learn magic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Woefully Underdefended Entrance Hall

**Author's Note:**

> I was inspired by the Sorting Hat Chats to explore what house Miles would be sorted into. And then I wondered what would happen if he actually went to Hogwarts.

The door swung open at once. A tall, black-haired witch in emerald-green robes stood there. She had a very stern face, and Miles’s first though was that he should never let her catch him breaking rules. Hagrid seemed agreeable, he should try to be caught by Hagrid, if he was to be caught at all.

“The firs’ years, Professor McGonagall,” said Hagrid.

“Thank you Hagrid. I will take them from here.”

She pulled the door wide. The entrance hall was large, as befitted a castle. The stone walls were lit with torches, which, combined with the suits of archaic armour (complete with paired swords) gave a Time of Isolation feel to the whole hall.

Miles couldn’t help but notice that the hall wasn’t designed with defence in mind. While the doors were impressively sturdy, there were no crossfire positions or natural choke points. The marble staircase, while magnificent, was also a defensive nightmare. Wide open, its railings didn’t even make good cover. A nice tight clockwise curve would give defenders the advantage if they were forced to retreat. Miles was disappointed. Hogwarts was a castle, but it was a castle built without even a basic knowledge of fortification. Never mind recent tactics, the builders hadn’t even read Vauban!

Miles was jostled out of his contemplations when Ivan grabbed his arm and dragged him along with the rest of the students, who were following McGonagall. She led them across a flagged stone floor. Miles could hear the low background hum of many voices behind a door to the right – the upper-year students must already be in there – but McGonagall led them into a small, empty chamber off of the hall. Fear made the other first-years crowd together, which meant that Miles could barely see McGonagall through the press of bodies. He silently cursed his own twisted form for the hundredth time. Short, stunted, prone to broken bones. It made him stand out when he wanted to blend in. It made him an object of pity when he wished to be taken seriously. His chin jerked up. With an effort, he stilled it.

McGonagall launched into a speech and Miles perked up. It might contain clues on how the mysterious sorting he’d heard rumours about worked.

“Welcome to Hogwarts, the start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room.      

“The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rulebreaking will lose house points.”

Miles winced. He would really have to make an effort not to be caught.

“At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honour. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours.

Gregor had been through the sorting, but he refused to divulge any details to Miles, Ivan or Elena. Quiet, shy Gregor had been sorted into Ravenclaw. Miles hoped for Gryffindor.

“The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting.”

Her eyes lingered for a moment on Ivan, who was as artfully dishevelled as always, and on Miles, who jerked his chin up instinctively. She quickly turned her head away from him. She hadn’t meant to stare, Miles guessed. Most people didn’t mean to stare, but it didn’t lessen the blow.

 _Yeah, so I'm short. But wait'll you see me dance_.

“I shall return when we are ready for you, please wait quietly.”

She left the chamber. Miles shook himself. _Don’t let it rattle you boy. She won’t be the only one staring today._

Elena was glaring at Ivan, trying to shame him into a presentable state. “Honestly Ivan! How do you manage to be such a slob? Your mother would be ashamed!”

Ivan cracked his trademark grin. “That’s the point Elena!”

Before the incipient fight could really get started, Miles intervened. “Did either of you find out how we get sorted into houses?”

Ivan smiled (Ivan normally smiled, Ivan had perfect Vor good looks). “I’ve heard it was some kind of test. I bet it hurts a lot!”

Several nearby classmates winced or murmured in fear. Elena punched Ivan’s shoulder. Miles just smiled. He knew pain like an old friend. He had nothing to fear from pain. _Let the whole school suck on that. I will face pain better than any who have come before._

There were sudden screams behind Miles. He started, palmed his wand. He was gratified that Ivan and Elena had the same reaction. He didn’t know whether to relax or start blasting spells when he saw what caused the screams. Twenty or so ghosts had just streamed through the back wall. They were ivory white and transparent, and seemed to be ignoring the first years in favour of an argument. Miles returned his wand to his pocket, and pricked his ears to catch their conversation. In the back of his mind, he filed away a suggestion: _use ghosts for reconnaissance._

What looked like a fat little monk was saying: “Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance —”      

“My dear Friar, haven’t we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he’s not really even a ghost — I say, what are you all doing here?” The ghost who said this looked like a Vor lord from three hundred years ago, during the most unfortunately gaudy era of the Time of Isolation.

Miles gave an elaborate courtly bow. “My dear sir, we are the new crop of first years, about to be sorted into our houses!”

The other students murmured. Miles couldn’t tell if it was about his (admittedly overdone) response or his bravery. His chin ticked up twice before he could control it.

“Hope to see you in Gryffindor!” said the gaudy noble. “We could use some students with proper manners.”

“Move along now,” said a sharp voice. “The Sorting Ceremony’s about to start.”

Professor McGonagall had returned. One by one, the ghosts floated away through the opposite wall.      

“Now, form a line,” Professor McGonagall told the first years, “and follow me.”


	2. The Sorting Disaster

Feeling determined, Miles got into line behind a boy with dark, messy hair, with Ivan behind him. They followed McGonagall out of the chamber, across the (lamentable poorly designed) great hall, and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall.

The Great Hall was an interesting room. Thousands of candles floated in midair, above four long tables. _How do they keep the wax from dripping down?_ Miles idly wondered. The remaining students were seated at these four tables (one for each house, perhaps). The professors sat at a table perpendicular to the others, raised on a dais. McGonagall led them to stand in a line in front of this table, facing the students, with the teachers behind them. Miles fought his instinct to look behind him. He hated having people in his blind spot.

Miles scanned the room for Gregor, but he couldn’t see him among the shining upturned faces. There were hundreds of students, with more than a few ghosts sitting amongst them. Miles looked up (it was a habit he was working on; people always forgot to look up), and stifled a gasp. The ceiling was incredible! It was as if there was no ceiling at all. Instead, he could see the stars, in all their shimmering glory.

He picked out Barrayar from among all of the stars, succeeding where he had failed with the faces. He felt; it wasn’t homesickness exactly. He missed his parents, but his mother always said Barrayar ate its children, and Miles had agreed with her. On Earth, free of the stigma of mutation, he might make something else of himself. He would serve Barrayar one day, but he would not be swallowed by it. The stars, all of the stars, held his destiny just as much as Barrayar, he felt.

A song interrupted Miles thoughts. He looked down, and was shocked to see a hat sitting on a stool, singing loudly.

“Oh, you may not think I’m pretty,

But don’t judge on what you see,

I’ll eat myself if you can find

A smarter hat than me.

You can keep your bowlers black,

Your top hats sleek and tall,

For I’m the Hogwarts Sorting Hat

And I can cap them all.

There’s nothing hidden in your head

The Sorting Hat can’t see,

So try me on and I will tell you

Where you ought to be.

You might belong in Gryffindor,

Where dwell the brave at heart,

Their daring, nerve, and chivalry

Set Gryffindors apart;

You might belong in Hufflepuff,

Where they are just and loyal,

Those patient Hufflepuffs are true

And unafraid of toil;

Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,

If you’ve a ready mind,

Where those of wit and learning,

Will always find their kind;

Or perhaps in Slytherin

You’ll make your real friends,

Those cunning folk use any means

To achieve their ends.

So put me on! Don’t be afraid!

And don’t get in a flap!

You’re in safe hands (though I have none)

For I’m a Thinking Cap!”

The whole hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song. Miles tried to understand what had just happened. The hat bowed to each of the four tables and then became quite still again.

“The hat has to look into your head?” Ivan whispered to Miles “I feel sorry for it.”

“At least I have something for it to look into,” Miles shot back. Elena quelled them with a glare.

_Please be Gryffindor. Please be Gryffindor._

Professor McGonagall was talking again.

“When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted. Abbott, Hannah!”

A girl with blond pig-tales, and an unfortunately pink face rushed over to the stool, plopped the hat on her head (it fell down over her eyes), and sat heavily.

The hat seemed to consider for a few seconds.

“HUFFLEPUFF!” shouted the hat.

The table on the right clapped and cheered, as Hannah went to join them. Harry saw the fat ghost from earlier waving at her.

“Bones, Susan!”

“HUFFLEPUFF!” shouted the hat again, and Susan scuttled over to join Hannah.

“Boot, Terry!”

“RAVENCLAW!”

The applause now came from the second table from the left. Several Ravenclaws stood up to shake the hand of a newcomer. Miles was reminded strongly of boffins meeting for the first time. Polite academic courtesy until they figured out if they needed to knife each other in the back or not. Ravenclaw was a house to be cautious of.

“Bothari, Elena!”

Miles watched with trepidation as Elena strode to the hat. She looked like she couldn’t decide between confidence and shyness. He dearly hoped he would be in the same house as her.

The hat sat on her head for much longer than the previous three, before finally deciding –

“GRYFFINDOR!”

Miles beamed. He and Ivan would surely be placed in Gryffindor as well. All three of them could continue as before. The table on the far left exploded with cheers; some of the loudest came from two students with bright orange hair. From their looks, they had to be twins or clones; sibs didn’t track each other that closely.

“Brocklehurst, Mandy” went to Ravenclaw and on the sorting went.

Miles watched the sorting process with interest. For some students, the hat made its decision right away. For others, it took longer, sometimes up to a minute. Sometimes it looked like the hat’s ‘posture’ would change upon a student’s head. The hat would seem to lean forward, as if confiding, or lean back, as if hearing an argument.

Finally, McGonagall came to the Vor. There were several Miles didn’t know, in addition to his cousin.

“Vorkosigan, Miles!”

There were murmurs as Miles walked towards the hat. He knew what the content would be well enough by now. They would remark on his height, his twisted form, and the fame of his mother. It was here, and perhaps only here (and Vorkosigan House) that his mother dwarfed his father. The Butcher of Komarr was unknown here, but Cordelia Vorkosigan, the woman who had bested Voldemort in a duel after Voldemort had torn open a portal to Barrayar was a hero. His own damage (in utero) thanks to the duel was an interesting footnote in the histories, nothing more. His head jerked up several times as he walked forward.

Still, this was Earth, not Barrayar. There would be curiousity, yes, but not revulsion. He didn’t see anyone making warding signs at him (although it would incongruent to see people making those signs _here_ of all places).

He placed the hat on his head, and sat down on the stool.

“Hmm,” said a small voice in his ear. Miles controlled his desire to jump. “You’re an interesting case boy. Your mind is sharp. You have courage. Compassion too. And loyalty.”

_Umm, thanks._ Thought Miles.

“You have ambition and arrogance a-plenty, but Slytherin isn’t the place for you. You’d be too busy proving yourself over and over again to grow how you should.”

_It’s not so much arrogance as an accurate assessment of my own competence._ The rest… Spite had its advantages and disadvantages as a motivating factor, Miles reflected.

Hats shouldn’t be able to snort.

“Gryffindor is too straight forward for you I think. You wouldn’t fit in well.”

Miles stomach fell. _But Elena…_

“If you require her for your comfort, you aren’t brave enough for Gryffindor. If you require her for friendship…”

_Yes! Yes!_

“Very well. I see where to put you. Your mother would approve, I think.”

Miles grin slid off his face as the hat announced.

“HUFFLEPUFF!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think some people may disagree with my sorting of Miles, but I don't think he'd fit in well with the Slytherins or Gryffindors. And if you've read the Sorting Hat Chats (they're great, you should), you'll know that Hufflepuff are motivated by desire to help everyone. I can't think of a more Miles motivation than this. Just try and count how many books have their plot driven by Miles trying to help someone, for no reason other than helping-people-is-what-Miles-does. Miles would do well in Hufflepuff.


	3. The Idiotic Cousin

Miles’s legs felt like lead as he forced a smile and walked towards the cheering Hufflepuffs. He wanted to sink to the ground and sob, but he wouldn’t let himself. Anything like that would isolate him. He couldn’t let his housemates know that he was crushed to be one of them.

He sat down, and shook hands with those around them. He filed away names automatically – his memory was exceptional, even when he was devastated.

Each place at the table was set with fairly good china, and the table was full of empty serving dishes. Miles allowed his curiosity to override his sorrow, and was about to ask one of the students next to him how they got food, when his cousin was called.

Ivan sauntered over to the sorting hat, and carelessly plopped it on his head. A minute passed. Then two. Miles couldn’t believe it. He’d been summarily disposed of, while his cousin took longer than anyone else? Maybe the sorting hat was having problems because of Ivan’s singular lack of virtue.

Finally, after what had to have been nearly three minutes, the hat announced its choice.

“HUFFLEPUFF!”

Miles surprised himself by clapping with genuine enthusiasm. Having Ivan with him would make being in Hufflepuff better, even if Ivan was mostly witless.

“Vorrutyer, Byerly!”

Miles was the first to shake Ivan’s hand and congratulate him. He then introduced Ivan to everyone he’d just met, taking care to show them that he remembered their names.

“What took it so long?” Miles whispered to his cousin.

“SLYTHERIN!”

“Oh, I just had to ask it which of the girls in our year were the likeliest prospects for a quick snog. Hufflepuff had the most, so here I am.”

Miles could only shake his head at his cousin’s fecklessness.

“Vorvayne, Ekaterin!”

Miles looked up with interest. He didn’t know any Vorvaynes. Ekaterin looked to be a shy, but self-composed girl, with beautiful, flowing brown hair. Miles couldn’t help but smile at her, even if she probably couldn’t see him.

“RAVENCLAW!”

As he watched her make her way to the Ravenclaw table, he finally picked out Gregor. He looked as serious and solemn as always. Miles noticed that he wore a badge with a shining “P” on it. He hadn’t heard that Gregor was a prefect, but he wasn’t surprised.

He nudged Ivan, and pointed towards Gregor.

“Do you see Gregor? Looks like he’s one of the prefects.”

“Good! Maybe he’ll let us get up to all kinds of mischief.”

“Gregor?”

“It could be worth a shot.”

“It’ll probably be worth a detention.”

Ivan chuckled.

Miles and Ivan exchanged whispered comments on the rest of the students as they were sorted, until only one remained.

“Zabini, Blaise!”

“SLYTHERIN!”

Slytherin gave a rousing cheer to receive the last student of the night, while McGonagall collected the chair and hat.

One of the teachers got to his feet. He was tall and had a lined face, long silver beard, and bright eyes. His robe was a bright shade of purple. Miles would have pegged him at seventy if he were from Barrayar, or one hundred ten if he was from Beta. He wondered how quickly people aged on this parallel-Earth.

“Welcome,” he said. “Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!      

“Thank you!”

He immediately sat down, to raucous applause. Miles and Ivan looked at each other, but joined in nonetheless.

“How did ImpSec let Gregor go to a school run by a madman?”

Ivan just shook his head.

Suddenly, food appeared on all the serving dishes. Looking around, Miles saw the older students shovelling it onto their plates, so he hastily followed suit. There was a wondrous assortment of dishes. Meats of all kinds (and probably not vat-grown either), vegetables cooked in a variety of fashions, several puddings he didn’t recognize. Spoiled for choice, he settled for sampling a bit of everything. It appeared that tastes in this country didn’t vary much from tastes on Barrayar. He supposed Gregor would have mentioned if the food was terrible.

The shock of being sorted into Hufflepuff was beginning to wear off. Miles had felt himself slipping into one of his funks, but the arrival of Ivan had nipped that in the bud. Funny that. Being stuck with Ivan for seven years should have made him more depressed, not less depressed.

As he cheered up, Miles talked to several of his neighbours. He wanted to get a feel for what type of student was in Hufflepuff.

It turned out to be hard to put a type on them, which is what he should have expected from any house that could encompass both himself and his cousin. Still, he couldn’t help but figure out how skills could complement each other. Earlier, he’d had a vision of leading Gryffindor triumphant to the house cup. But now…

Maybe the sorting hat did know him. These Hufflepuffs seemed like something he could work with.

Ivan must have seen his expression as he mulled things over.

“Oh no. Why did I have to be put in here with you!”

“What do you mean?”

“The last time I saw you look like that, we ended up getting yelled at by Illyan for a half hour.”

“If they didn’t want us using those plasma arcs for target practice, they shouldn’t have put power cells in them.”

Ivan shook his head. “The time before that, I saw you make that expression just before the bridge I was marching on collapsed.”

Miles grinned, cherishing the memory. “That wasn’t my fault, technically speaking.”

“And a few times before that, we ended up buried in a tank.

“We were only stuck for fifteen minutes before Bothari got us out. It wasn’t _that_ bad Ivan. Honestly, you have nothing to be afraid of.”

“The fact that you’re saying that has me very afraid.”


	4. The Sumptuous Feast

It turned out that Ivan and Miles were the first Barrayarans to ever be sorted to Hufflepuff.  
“They normally go the Gryffindor and Slytherin, although a few have gone to Ravenclaw, like that prefect, Gregor. We’ve always wondered why none come to us.”  
Miles rushed in with a diplomatic answer before Ivan could say something profoundly stupid. “It has to do with Barrayaran values. The whole planet is mad for the military. I think that’s where Gryffindor gets them. It doesn’t seem to value subtlety much.”  
Miles hoped that snippet he’d heard had given him an accurate idea of the Hufflepuff attitude towards Gryffindors. While some Gryffindors seemed to be admired for being brave or daring, the perception of them seemed to be that they were slow-witted or arrogant. Miles had almost rushed to Elena’s defence the first time he’d heard this, but had managed to restrain himself. He was sure she’d earn everyone’s esteem eventually.  
The boy he was talking to, an earnest third year named Cederic nodded for Miles to continue.  
“Slytherin… Hmmm. Slytherin is a very Vor house. Ambition, family loyalty, these are all things we’ve been raised on.”  
“What is Vor?” Cederic asked. “I know that some of the Barrayaran students have names that start with it, and some don’t. Someone told me it was some type of aristocracy.”  
Miles had to stifle a growl. Ivan laid a restraining hand on his shoulder.  
“We aren’t an aristocracy. We’re a warrior caste. To be Vor means your life belongs to Barrayar. There can be no life for a Vor without service, or at least there shouldn’t be.”  
Ivan chuckled.  
“My cousin takes the whole Vor thing a lot more seriously than most these days. That’s what he gets for being a Count’s heir.”  
Cederic looked puzzled. “But if you’re not nobility, how come your father is a Count? Isn’t that a noble title?”  
Miles sighed. Explaining the peculiarities of Barrayaran feudalism to off-worlders was always a chore.  
“On Earth, you’d be right. But on Barrayar, Count is short for Accountant. The Counts collect taxes for the Emperor, and as a side-effect of that, run districts in his name.”  
Cederic looked at him oddly. “So how big is this County you’ll inherit?”  
“Ah, about the size of this country, actually.”  
Yes, Cederic’s eyes were definitely becoming quite wide.  
“But that’s far in the future. As far away as possible, I hope.”  
Cederic nodded, and Miles managed to change the subject to something less fraught. He needed his fellow students to see him as a leader, but he didn’t want them to see him as one because of his future power. He wanted to earn their trust on his own. Besides, these Hufflepuffs seemed fairly egalitarian. They may decide that he was a dictator-in-training, and not worth associating with.  
Once they had all eaten their fill, their plates magically emptied. Within moments, the serving plates were full of every dessert imaginable. Hundreds of blocks of ice cream in all the colours of the rainbow, dozens of pastries and several types of pies competed for the limited space on Miles’s plate, and the even more limited space in his stomach.   
After dessert, the old wizard stood again (he had been identified by Cederic as Albus Dumbledore, the headmaster). The after-dinner conversation quickly died down.  
“Ahem — just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.”  
“First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils.” Miles could have sworn that Dumbledore looked at him as he said this. “And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well.” This was definitely accompanied by a glance at those clones/twins at the Gryffindor table. Who had told Dumbledore to expect rule breaking from Miles?  
“I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.”  
“Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch.”  
Miles wondered what Quidditch was. He’d have to remember to ask Cederic.  
“And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death.”  
A few students laughed at this. Miles restrained himself. Barely.  
“And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!” Dumbledore was practically beaming, while the other teachers at the head table looked less enthusiastic.  
“Everyone pick their favourite tune,” said Dumbledore, “and off we go!”


End file.
